


Heed the Path

by zythepsary



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zythepsary/pseuds/zythepsary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Exalted Council approaches, Dorian considers the future.</p><p>(Spoilers for Trespasser.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heed the Path

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [serenity-fails](http://serenity-fails.tumblr.com) and [lore-the-keeper](http://lore-the-keeper-of.tumblr.com/) for encouragement and notes. I really appreciate it.
> 
> This is set in the same universe as [As the Sun Burns the Ground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3704277), but can be read as a standalone.

Cool wind bites into Dorian's exposed skin. The Winter Palace is visible in the distance, a dark smudge against the sky. Not too far away. He sighs, thinking of a long bath and a hot meal. Orlesian food uses an abhorrent amount of butter, but anything is better than what he's been eating lately.

His back and thighs ache from the long ride. He probably should have hired a carriage, but Tevinter has given him barely more than the minimum he requires for travel, and he doesn't want to use what his father has left him. Not yet. There is too much work needed to be done back home, most of which requires coin. He can handle a few weeks of discomfort.

The main road is busy, with fresh tracks going in both directions. He passes merchants and fellow travelers, who eye his staff and robes warily, and fancy carriages that can only contain more politicians. Fereldan, judging by the horses. Dorian wonders if the Inquisition has arrived yet. If so, the Chargers are likely with them.

That thought keeps him occupied until he arrives at the Winter Palace, shortly before noon. Getting through the front gate is easy; the guards recognize him from the peace talks and give his papers little more than a cursory glance before leading him through the gates.

"Have the Inquisition's people arrived yet?" Dorian asks. When the guards shake their heads, he adds, "Do you know when they will?"

One guard shrugs. Another suggests a few days or perhaps a week, citing poor traveling weather.

"Speak to Birch when you go inside," says a fair-haired guard. "Old elf. He'll show you to your room. Stables—" He jabs his finger towards a large building. "—are that way."

Dorian clicks his tongue and nudges his horse towards the stables. The moment he slips out of the saddle, servants appear and take his saddlebags. A younger man compliments the horse's coat before he takes the reins, guiding her into a stall at the other end of the stables.

As the last of the servants leave the stables, Dorian murmurs his thanks and stretches, groaning. He wants a long rest before he has to talk with the masks and cheese eaters. At least he'll have time to get settled here before the Inquisition arrives. And Bull.

It's been months since they've seen each other, and Bull's absence in his daily life is an awful thing to remember each morning. They exchange letters frequently and meet as often as they can by the border, but it's not the same. Nowhere near it.

Dorian sighs, absently patting his chest. Bull's letters are there, carefully concealed in a hidden pocket in his robes. Keeping them so close is too sentimental, even for him, but he likes having them nearby. Maevaris teases him about it, insisting he'll end up clutching those pieces of paper to fall asleep if he's not careful.

"Enough of that," Dorian murmurs to himself. He scrubs at his face and turns towards the door, and—

Bull.

He stands outside, watching. Bare-chested. Those familiar terrible trousers. A few new scars, and a crooked smile.

Dorian wonders what he must look like. Days of traveling by horse have never done anything for his skin, or his hair. His robes stick uncomfortably to his sweaty back and there is certainly days-old dirt trapped under his nails, but if Bull notices, he doesn't seem to care. He lifts one hand and waves, finger wiggling, as though they see each other every day. Dorian thinks of Skyhold, wandering the grounds to see Bull sparring with Krem or causing trouble with Sera.

Maker, he has missed this man.

"I've told you not to sneak up on me," says Dorian, but his cheeks are already aching from his grin. He doesn't care that he reeks of sweat, or how there is likely horse dung on his boots, or that stable boys and guards are nearby.

He steps forward, and Bull meets him.

"Dorian," says Bull, as he reaches to hold Dorian's face in his hands. Something behind Dorian's ribs aches. He will never tire of hearing the way Bull says his name, or how Bull's thumbs stroke along his cheeks. " _Kadan_."

He murmurs the word against Dorian's mouth, and the kiss that follows is almost worth the time they have spent apart. Dorian wraps his arms around Bull's neck, drawing him closer. Behind them, a horse snorts and shuffles in its stall, and quick footsteps fade into the distance.

"Hello," says Dorian, settling back onto his heels. He turns, pressing a small kiss to Bull's palm. "Amatus."

Bull sighs. His smile widens, as it always does when Dorian uses that endearment. "Say it again."

"Hello," Dorian repeats, if only to make Bull chuckle. "Did you miss me?"

"Nah," Bull answers. He pats Dorian's cheek before sliding his hands down Dorian's arms and around his back. "Not at all."

His grip tightens. Dorian chokes, ribs protesting, as Bull lifts him up and— _kaffas_ —spins him around in a circle. He curses and laughs, boots dangling several inches above the ground, until Bull lowers him back down.

"You silly man," Dorian says, but he can't stop the laughter bubbling in his chest. Bull is warm and solid and _there_ for him to touch, and that's better than neat handwriting and memories. It has been far too long.

And it will be again, the next time they meet. A long distance will always stretch between them. There are sending crystals, newly purchased and waiting to be used, but Dorian knows he will ache every time he hears Bull's voice. He sobers, thinking of the empty Magisterium seat, and turns to hide his face in Bull's chest. Bull hums and holds him close, placing a light kiss on the top of his head.

For a few minutes, they do nothing but embrace, until Bull sniffs audibly and groans. "You smell terrible."

"I've been on a horse for quite some time now," Dorian reminds him. He takes a step back and straightens his robes. "Come on, then. You can watch me bathe."

*

Inside, an older elf with long white hair leads them to Dorian's quarters.

The room itself is lovely, and far more lavish than he expected for the ambassador from evil Tevinter. He assumed he'd be given a broom closet and a bucket, but this room is spacious and ornately decorated. The tall windows overlook the countryside, and the bed is large, with silk sheets and enough pillows to drown under. His clothing has already been put away in the wardrobe, and the rest of his belongings have been placed in a trunk at the foot of the bed. Someone has prepared a bath, which is still warm to the touch.

Bull drags a chair over to the bath and sits, watching Dorian undress. He whistles.

"You are perverse," says Dorian. He slips out of his robes and moves to toss them away, but stops when he remembers the letters. They're already crumpled and worn; he doesn't want to damage them further. He hangs the robes carefully over an empty chair instead, then climbs into the bathtub. Water slips over the sides, dripping onto the floor.

"You told me to watch," Bull points out. He is sitting behind Dorian, knees bumping into the tub. He rests his arms along the edge of the tub and leans closer. "I missed seeing you naked."

Dorian tips his head back. "Aren't you a romantic?"

"Yeah," says Bull, sounding too fond of himself. He dips his hand into the tub and pours water over Dorian's head. "How's home?"

They talk about Tevinter and what Dorian has been working on. He tries to keep the details light; he knows that Bull wants to talk about coming with him this time, and he can't do that now. Later. They can discuss this later, once they've spent more than a day or so together. He steers the conversation towards the Chargers and their latest adventures, which Bull is happy to describe in hilariously bloody detail.

Once the road is gone from Dorian's skin, Bull offers him a hand. Dorian accepts it and curses the moment he leaves the tub.

"It's _freezing_ ," Dorian mutters, wiping the excess water off his limbs. But Bull's hands are warm, and soon—

They're in bed, Bull's leg brace and boots already on the floor, and Dorian fumbles at those awful trousers. His skin is still wet from the bath, leaving damp marks on the sheets. Water drips from his hair and lands on Bull's belly.

Big hands on his hips, his back. Fingers twisting in his hair. Bull murmurs his name and pulls him closer, thumbing at his cheek before they kiss. He says, "Dorian," and, with a sigh, "Kadan," when their mouths are bruised and wet.

"I'm here," Dorian says, and Bull chuckles. The sound prickles over his skin. "Touch me, please."

*

Dorian sprawls on his back and thinks about drawing another bath. Perhaps in an hour or so. He doesn't really feel like moving. Eventually, he will have to. Can't attend important political meetings when he smells like sex, Bull's fingerprints still visible on his skin.

"Satisfied?" Bull asks. He sits astride Dorian's legs and leans down, pressing a damp kiss to his throat. "You usually make more noise."

"The ride was exhausting," Dorian replies, and covers Bull's mouth with his fingers before he can make that particular joke. He is struck with the odd urge to trace Bull's lips and does so, lingering on the scar, before he lets his hand fall to the bed. "But oh, _yes_. I'm satisfied."

Bull grins and plants his palms on the bed by Dorian's sides, shifting lower. He works his way down, placing more kisses on Dorian's skin, but he stops at the fresh scar over Dorian's ribs.

"This is new," says Bull, frowning.

"Yes." It isn't a particularly interesting story, but Dorian hoped Bull wouldn't notice it. "It's nothing."

Bull traces the scar with his maimed fingers. "Tell me."

Dorian sighs and gives in. "A foolish attempt on my life." Broad daylight, in the markets near his home. A young man—a boy, really—with shaky hands, a dull knife, and poor aim. The blade barely touched his skin before the boy turned to ash. "It was an embarrassment more than anything."

"You still got hurt." Bull kisses the scar. Stubble scrapes against Dorian's skin. "I should have been there."

"Tevinter is no place for a qunari," says Dorian. Dread begins to sink in his belly. They've had this conversation too many times now. As much as he wants, he can't—his country holds no love for the qunari, and Bull would end up dead, one way or another.

"Tal-Vashoth," Bull corrects. The Qunlat sounds harsher than it used to. Dorian wonders if he's losing his familiarity with the tongue. "Maybe that's what I've always been. No one needs the details."

Dorian thinks of this, in the home and title his father left him. Seeing Bull every day, and sleeping in the same bed at night. The Chargers could stay in the guest rooms. Perhaps he could locate Krem's family. He could wipe out all the wicked things in his homeland, with Bull at his side.

But that is a fantasy, no matter how much he wishes.

"Even if you posed as a merchant," says Dorian, reaching to touch Bull's face, "or a mercenary." He presses his fingertips into Bull's jaw, inviting him closer. "Or a slave. It's not safe for you, and—"

"I know," Bull interrupts. He rests his arms beside Dorian's face and leans down, pressing their foreheads together. His breath stutters for a moment; Dorian feels it, just as he can feel Bull's rapid heartbeat against his. "But it's not safe for you, either."

Dorian sighs, thinking of the long list of magisters who want him dead. There are so few in Tevinter that Maevaris counts among her people, and even fewer that Dorian trusts. He cannot put Bull into that situation.

"Can we discuss this another time?" Dorian tilts his head to the side, trying to look Bull in the eye. Their mouths brush together in a gentle kiss. "I don't want to think about Tevinter right now."

"Okay," says Bull, nodding, and kisses the corner of Dorian's mouth. "Okay."

*

Dorian would spend the day in bed with Bull if he could, but there are the necessary pleasantries to deal with. Gifts to exchange, meetings to organize. Being an ambassador is terribly boring, and it doesn't help that everyone here is too anxious. A thick fog of tension lingers in the air.

Still, Dorian talks and jokes and arranges future meetings, promising to report home with all that he's learned. He can tell that Arl Teagan and Duke Cyril are already exhausted, and they are grateful when he excuses himself for the evening.

Outside, the Orlesians have begun to set up a small market and tavern in the courtyard. The Chargers already claimed the tavern as their own, and they are a few drinks deep when Dorian steps inside. They greet him with, "Vint!" and, "There's the sorry bastard," and there is a lot of pats on the back and friendly shoulder punches before Dorian can find his way to Bull.

"Hey," says Bull, smiling faintly. Dorian sits beside him, knocking their knees together. "You free tonight?"

"Should be," Dorian answers. He doubts he can get anything done until the Inquisition arrives.

Bull slings his arm over Dorian's shoulder. "I'm glad."

There is no bard, but Stitches has a decent voice, and he leads the rest of the Chargers in a filthy song that will likely end with someone getting their arse licked. The nearby guards try not to smile and sing along. Dorian thinks of the Herald's Rest, and the muted sounds of the tavern below as Bull's hands drifted over his skin.

"Drink up," says Dalish cheerfully, shoving a mug into his hand.

Several drinks later, Dorian finds himself sitting on Bull's knee. He leans back, slumped against that broad chest, and allows Bull to hold him there with an arm around his waist. Covering Bull's hand with his is easy, so he does. A chuckle rumbles against his back.

"Tevinter ambassador, cuddling up to the Qunari," says Bull, his mouth against Dorian's ear. He sighs, clicking his tongue. "Naughty."

"My people already think I'm a heathen," Dorian replies. Most have dismissed him, based on his particular inclinations and objections to blood magic, and his affiliation with the Inquisition hasn't improved his standing. His association with Bull hasn't helped, either; that news traveled north before he returned. Many think it gossip or slander, while Maevaris finds the entire thing hilarious. His mother is still appalled at the very idea. "I can cuddle as much as I like."

" _Very_ naughty," says Bull. He curls their fingers together, humming.

There is more singing, and then Dalish attempts to teach Skinner a dance. It doesn't end well, and Dorian is still struggling not to laugh too loudly when Krem comes by with fresh drinks. His gaze drops to their linked fingers.

"This is sweet," says Krem, and moves to ruffle Dorian's hair.

Dorian ducks away, cursing. "Don't you dare." Bull's laughter is sharp and quick, ringing warmly in Dorian's chest. He swats Krem's hand away and takes the offered ale, resting the mug on his knee.

"Can't help it," says Krem, shrugging. He clinks his mug against Dorian's, then Bull's. "Chief gets all quiet and weepy when you aren't around. This is much better."

Bull stiffens. It is a quick, slight movement, and Dorian isn't certain if Krem has noticed.

"Quiet?" Dorian repeats and turns, offering Bull a smile. " _Weepy_?"

"There was smoke in my eye," Bull grumbles. He waves Krem away. "Out. Can't have you embarrassing me in front of my l—"

"No," Dorian cuts in. When Bull says _lover_ , he drags the word into too many unnecessary syllables. Once, he fluttered his eyelashes while he said it, and Varric brought it up every single day for two weeks. Dorian nearly managed to forget about it, but unfortunately, Sera mentioned it in the last letter she sent.

"Love," Bull finishes, though Dorian hears the dropped letter. He kisses the top of Dorian's head, murmuring, "My love. My heart."

Dorian feels entirely too warm. He raises his mug to his lips, swallowing a large mouthful of ale, and gestures at Krem. "Look what you've done. Now he won't stop."

"Oh, no," says Krem lightly, and wanders back to the attempted dance lesson.

Once he is out of earshot, Dorian squeezes Bull's fingers. "Do keep calling me your heart. I like that one."

A long minute passes.

"My heart," says Bull softly. He tugs Dorian closer.

*

Later, when they are both spent and sweaty, Dorian slips out of bed.

"I have something for you."

"Yeah?" Bull asks. The sheets rustle when he shifts, sitting up. His horns knock against the wall. "Something special?"

"Yes," Dorian answers. He opens the trunk at the foot of the bed and gropes around in the dark until he touches something cold. These crystals are rare outside the Imperium, but relatively cheap, compared to other items that perform the same purpose. He purchased two sets: one for Cadash, and one for Bull. "Here we are."

He returns to bed, kneeling beside Bull, and conjures a ball of light above their heads. The light flickers and hums, slowly expanding, as he places the crystal in Bull's hand.

Bull blinks in the new light and peers at the crystal. He turns it over slowly, searching every inch.

"Is this," he begins and stops, peering at it again before he shakes it. That must have applied enough pressure, because the crystal hums for a moment. He raises his eyebrows, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Is this supposed to—?"

"Ah, _no_ ," Dorian cuts in. Bull looks somewhat disappointed. "It's for communication. Over a long distance."

"Really," says Bull, sounding surprised. Dorian finds that curious. He assumed Qunari discovered these at some point, since the crystals are a common use of magic in Tevinter. Not as widely used as heated teapots and cosmetic charms, but magisters often use them for communication and journals. "How far?"

"I don't know the exact numbers, but quite a distance," Dorian answers. He touches Bull's hand, showing him where and how to touch the crystal. "It's magic."

Bull chuckles. "No shit. Makes my skin itch." He studies the crystal for a moment, rubbing his thumb along the side. "Would anyone else be able to hear?"

"Only if they were standing as close as we are now." Dorian covers Bull's hand with both of his, curling Bull's fingers around the crystal. "We won't be able to see each other, of course. That requires a _great_ deal of power, and the image is always distorted in some way—"

Bull interrupts him with a kiss. The light above their heads cracks and disappears.

"Thank you," Bull murmurs. He lifts Dorian's chin and kisses him again, then places the crystal on the bedside table. "That'll make things easier."

Because they will be apart. Again. Dorian thinks of the long treks he will make to the border and swallows, trying to focus on what's in front of him.

"Think of all the coin we'll save," says Dorian. Bull chuckles as he lies down, fitting his hand over Dorian's hip. "I'm quite certain our couriers have been overcharging us. It would be cheaper to—"

"Dorian," says Bull. He drags his nails across Dorian's skin. "C'mere."

*

The next morning, Bull wants to try using the crystals, so they walk to opposite ends of palace. Dorian taps the crystal and waits for the responding hum before he says, "Bull."

"YEAH?" is the response, so loud that Dorian grimaces and covers one ear. The word ricochets around the corridor.

"No need to shout," Dorian reminds him. He told Bull more than once to speak normally. "I can hear you just fine."

The crystal is silent, but continues to hum. Bull is still there. Dorian waits.

Finally, Bull says, "This is some weird shit," and chuckles. If Dorian closes his eyes, he can imagine that Bull is beside him.

"Yes," says Dorian, shutting his eyes. He needs the practice. Bull's writing is concise, occasionally filthy and always sweet, but his voice is so much better. Dorian won't need to keep those letters on his person anymore. Not with the real thing only a touch away. "We can speak this way whenever we want to. I will continue writing to you, of course. It's always nice to receive a letter."

Bull is silent again. Dorian holds the crystal closer, feeling the warmth pulse against his throat.

"I don't want you to go," says Bull quietly. Dorian pictures him hunched over the crystal in the dark, murmuring into his cupped hands. "It's selfish, but—I want you here. With me."

Sometimes, it still stuns Dorian that he is wanted. Loved. Bull takes pleasure in reminding him regularly, and he is grateful for it, even as a familiar ache hangs heavily in his chest. He never expected that a drunken tumble would turn into something like this.

"I need to be there," Dorian tries. His throat is closing. He swallows, trying to free the words trapped there. "You can't come with me."

"You could stay. Join the Chargers. I need a real mage, anyway."

Dorian laughs, but it's a hollow sound. He slouches, stone digging sharply into his back. What must come next is not easy to say, but he needs to say it soon. Not having to look Bull in the eye makes it easier.

"We don't have to," says Dorian, his throat tightening again, "remain as we are. I would be happy to count you amongst my friends. I have very few, after all, and it's good to keep the numbers up."

There is a scoff, then a chuckle.

"I'm yours," Bull says. With Dorian's eyes closed, he can pretend Bull is whispering in his ear. "Always."

That is a word Bull says with his fingers and his teeth, leaving marks that last for days. Dorian raises the crystal to his mouth, placing an absent kiss.

"Yes," he says. _Amatus_ , he thinks, remembering that night in the Herald's Rest, Bull's back flexing under his hands. Bull recognized the word and protested, insisting it was too sweet, but he never stopped smiling every time Dorian said it. "Always, amatus."

"Always," Bull echoes, sighing. Content. Dorian knows that sound. "How long does this crystal shit last?"

"As long as you'd like," Dorian answers. The crystals grow warm with use, but he has seen them used for days without interruption. "Barring some sort of tampering with the crystal. Please don't drop it."

"I won't." There is a pause, and then breathing. "I'm on my way to your room." Bull's voice dips lower. "Think I can talk you off before you get here?"

"I'll take that challenge."

Bull laughs. "You sure, kadan?"

There is a light touch to his voice, a tease. Dorian thinks of the brightness in his eye. That crooked smile.

"Do your worst," says Dorian, and Bull promptly launches into some of the filthiest talk he has ever heard. He walks faster, breaking into a sprint when he reaches the guest wing.

*

And then there are Qunari and eluvians and _Solas_ returns, and—

It's all a bit of a disaster, really.

*

"Have a safe trip," says Cadash, her voice muffled in Dorian's belly. He returns the embrace, trying not to stare at the empty sleeve hanging loosely at her side. "I'll visit you soon. My family can get me over the border."

"I doubt I will have accomplished much by the time you arrive," says Dorian. She steps back, and a lump rises in his throat when he sees how damp her eyes are. "But I look forward to it."

Cadash looks away, rubbing at her eyes with her palm. A chuckle slips from her mouth. "Okay, I'm crying now, and it's just gonna get worse. Go say the rest of your goodbyes."

He does, receiving warm hugs from nearly everyone else. Cassandra looks like she wants to, but Dorian tells her the Divine hat will likely fall off if she does. Sera jams her fingers into his ribs, cackling when he wriggles away, and Rainier offers him a firm handshake. Varric asks him to visit Kirkwall when he can. Vivienne kisses his cheeks in place of a hug, and Cole leans against his shoulder for a long moment.

Bull is the one to walk him to the front gates, arm heavy and warm around his shoulders. Neither of them speak. Dorian leans against Bull's side, wishing they had more time, but his horse is already waiting.

A guard bows quickly, murmuring, "Ambassador," before he hands the reins over and returns to his post. Dorian rubs the leather between his fingers. The horse snorts and shakes her head, stretching to nibble at the grass.

One big hand squeezes his shoulder. "No tears for me, huh."

Dorian shakes his head. They both wept last night, and he has very few tears left. "How about a kiss?"

"You Vints sure know how to charm a guy," says Bull, as he leans down. The sun disappears behind his bulk, and the kiss is brief. Dorian is grateful. It will be easier to leave.

He pulls away and touches Bull's bare chest, rubbing his thumb along a faded scar. A rift in the Dales, he remembers: a terror demon shoved its claws past his armor and tore into the skin below. He hopes Bull doesn't collect too many new marks before they meet again.

"Ready?" Bull asks quietly.

Dorian looks at the road. "I suppose I have to be."

"You sure you don't want an escort?" Bull asks. He links his fingers together, offering Dorian a lift.

Dorian grips the saddle and steps onto Bull's hands, then onto the horse. He shifts his weight, slipping the reins between his fingers. "Yes. I'm meant to be traveling alone." And he can't show up at the border again with the same Tal-Vashoth mercenary. His enemies have a long grasp and a mild sense of morality, and it is only a matter of time before someone makes an attempt on Bull or his company.

"Well," says Bull. It looks like he's gnawing on his tongue. He clasps Dorian's knee, squeezing. "Be safe. Please."

Dorian covers the hand and leans down, murmuring, "I will," before kissing him again. Bull hums and sighs against his mouth. "I love you."

Once, it took him a long time to say those words. They come easier now, and his heart soars in his chest when he sees Bull smile.

"You're making me blush," Bull grumbles, but he still gazes up at Dorian, twisting their fingers together. "I love you, too."

It takes a great deal of discipline to sit up straight and tug his hand free, but Dorian manages it. He adjusts the reins and shifts in the saddle, trying to get comfortable. The road taunts him, stretching out into the distance.

"My boys will be looking for work soon," says Bull, rubbing his thumb along Dorian's knee. "Might end up near the border sooner than I planned."

"We'll arrange a safe spot," Dorian replies. Never the same place twice, and they arrive and leave at separate times. Dead drops. Encrypted letters. Overly cautious, perhaps, but Dorian prefers that to the alternative. "You know, I should probably just buy an estate in Nevarra. We'll save a fortune on inn expenses."

"We don't need a whole estate," Bull points out. He pats Dorian's knee before he lets his hand fall away, adding, "Just a bed," with a deliberate wink.

"A single bed, in the middle of the country?"

"Okay, fine. A wall or two. And a roof."

"I'll look into it," Dorian promises. Something said in jest, and now he is considering it. He wonders how often that will happen with Bull. Frequently, he hopes. He hasn't been disappointed yet.

Bull nods. He glances at the road.

"I know," says Dorian, before Bull can speak. He adjusts his hold on the reins again. "All right. Stay out of trouble, Bull. Please."

"I'll try," Bull says, with a small smile. He takes a step back. "You, too."

Dorian forces himself to return the smile, even as a terrible lump rises in his throat, and nudges the horse forward. Behind him, the gates close.

It will take at least two days before he can cross the Waking Sea and find a group of merchants to join. That's safer than traveling north alone, and they usually appreciate having a mage nearby on the way to Tevinter. Dorian straightens his posture, eyes on the road ahead.

Five minutes later, the crystal around his neck hums. Dorian bows his head, chuckling, and taps it.

"Miss me already?"

"Yeah," says Bull. It sounds like he's smiling. "Thought I'd keep you company today."

Dorian shifts the reins into one hand so he can hold the crystal closer. "I would appreciate it."

"The road gets lonely," says Bull. After a moment, he says, "Tell me what you see."

Dorian glances around. It's the same countryside: trees, green grass, well-traveled roads leading to the inner parts of Halamshiral. Over his shoulder, he can spot muddy shapes against the Winter Palace. Perhaps one of them is Bull. "Nothing special. And you?"

"Cullen's dog is demanding belly rubs. He's spoiled that thing already."

"Cullen wasn't the one slipping him treats," Dorian points out. Cadash and Bull spent the better part of yesterday getting the mabari to perform minor tricks in order to justify the treats and table scraps.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Dorian chuckles, picturing the way Bull's mouth twists to hide a smile. "You're a terrible liar."

Bull huffs at that. "It's following me. I think Cullen told it to."

They talk about Cullen's mabari, who barks and whines when Bull stops scratching her ears. Varric's new title, and how much he delights in ignoring political etiquette. Sera's ideas for Cadash's missing limb, which Dorian insists is improbable, but Bull tells him about Dagna's design plans. Their new home in Nevarra, and what it might look like.

The long road still waits, but Bull is there beside him.


End file.
